The Room
by xoxothesubwayfugitive
Summary: During the war, Hermione finds herself in the care of Lucius Malfoy. They develop an attachment, but some things don't last forever. Lucius/Hermione.
1. The Beginning

Her eyes fluttered open and then fell shut again. Voices swirled around her, muted in the perfumed air. Her brain was completely muddled, thoughts coming quickly but failing to be processed. She tried to speak but her mouth wouldn't open; she tried to move her fingers but they would only hang heavily by her side. She felt herself slipping into sleep again, but not before a hand wrapped around her wrist and brushed against her veins, checking her pulse.

It was oh so faint, but it was there.

The man straightened up and sucked in the warm air, only the faintest glimmer of relief crossing his face. Then, he turned around and proudly announced that the girl was dead.

* * *

When she awoke the second time, everything was different and everything was the same. The air in the room was cool and musty. Instead of the plush carpeting her back was now pressed into a thin mattress. It was very quiet and still, but she was still confused, and so very tired.

Before she slipped back into slumber, she thought maybe she heard a door open and shut, but who could tell?

The man looked down at her blood smeared face and cringed, pulling out his wand to clean her extensive wounds.

She sighed gently in her sleep as he began, and to him the sound was like coming home.

* * *

Hermione had a dream that she was running through the woods as fast as her feet would carry her, dodging through the trees and panting. She was beyond weary but knew she could not stop, as dark figures lurked behind every tree. Each one had piercing grey eyes. They reached for her but could not touch. Behind her and before her there was only darkness.

Outside of her dream world, she thrashed in the sheets, cold sweat forming on her brow.

He watched her from the corner, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

* * *

She fell in and out of sleep like that for days, the potion having taken a heavy toll on her body. Every time she awoke, she had forgotten everything all over again, and it was all new to her. As the days went on she noticed that she was regaining feeling in her limbs and that the shapes in the room grew sharper each time she opened her eyes.

She knew that she wanted to wake up but she didn't remember how she could.

And then, after what might have been a long time or a very short time, she heard a crash somewhere in the waking world. Her eyes flew open and she sat up straight. And she remembered.

* * *

The room was dim, lit only by light filtering in through sheer curtains over the small window that was set by the head of the bed. White plaster walls enclosed the small space, a room just big enough for a cot like bed and a sparse rug and a bedside table. She took it all in quickly, even though her head was pounding.

Only one thing was exceedingly strange to her aching mind.

The room had no door.

* * *

In her mind, the last events before she had come here played over and over. They had been captured, brought to the Manor, tortured. Ron's shouts still rang in her ears. She could feel the knife on her arm and Bellatrix's breath on her face, and…and…

That was all.

After that it was darkness.

She pulled back her left sleeve to look at her wound, the cursed word carved into her flesh, but it was gone.

All the scars were gone.

* * *

Hermione dragged herself out of bed, placing her feet gingerly on the carpet. The air was frigid, and she was wearing only her jeans and t shirt. She pulled the starchy white blanket around her shoulders, and that helped a little. Sitting up made her head pound, but she knew she had to do it. Finally she was able to rise to her feet and walk to the window.

When she tried to push the curtain away, it would not budge.

* * *

She found three things in the room; a stick of gum in the bedside drawer, a dry leaf under the rug, and a scrap of paper with sixteen tally marks scrawled on it. She put the paper in the drawer with the gum and held the leaf gently in her palm.

Already she was dying to leave.

* * *

She was startled by his appearance (he seemed to melt through the wall) but not surprised to see him.

"I thought it would be you," she said steadily. "So go ahead. Kill me."

"I am not here to kill you," he replied.

"Torture then? I wish you wouldn't."

"No again. A…close friend of mine requested that I keep you safe, and for reasons even I have difficulty understanding, I obliged."

She didn't try to process this, it would been too much or her weakened state. Instead she looked up at him and said, bravely, "It's nice to know that I'm not dead, then."

"My dear," he said coolly. "I said I wouldn't kill you. I didn't say you weren't dead."

* * *

This elicited the response he was hoping for, and he watched with a smirk as panic slid across her face.

"What do you mean?" she said, measuring her word carefully as not to betray her fear.

"Everyone except for myself and my aforementioned friend believe you to be long lost to the world. Word is that Bellatrix herself did the deed."

He was so disgustingly smug about it. She could have slapped him.

Who's this friend?" she questioned.

"I see no reason why I should divulge that information to you. I simply owe him a favor, and unfortunately that favor is you."

She couldn't pretend that that didn't sting a little.

"What about Harry and Ron?"

"They slipped away without you, I fear. Didn't even try to take your body."

She knew he was trying to frighten her, and she wouldn't listen.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Maybe 2 weeks, maybe longer."

She was floored.

"_2 weeks?_ What on earth happened to me?"

"You were asleep," he said simply.

* * *

"Aren't you going to cry?" he asked, a bemused smile on his face.

"I don't see any reason to." She was now sitting on the bed with her back to the wall, her strength beginning to fail her.

"Why not?"

"I don't seem to be in any immediate danger. I may as well just be rational."

He thought about that for a moment, and then seemed to accept her logic.

"Just do what you want with me. I don't care anymore," she continued.

"I'm afraid you shouldn't say such things, Miss Granger," he replied. He then started to leave, but she stopped him.

"Is there a bathroom I might use, or are you looking to make this experience worse than it already is?"

"Oh, of course." He acted as if he had been reminded to pick up the newspaper from the lawn, and waved his wand nonchalantly.

A plain white door appeared in the wall opposite the bed, and then he left.

* * *

Of course she scoured the bathroom for any kind of escape, but there wasn't even a crack in the tile. A sink, a toilet, a shower and a bath mat, that was all. There was a towel on the edge of the sink, and a bar of soap in the shower. No cabinet, no mirror. She hadn't thought about it until just then, but it was killing her to not be able to see herself.

* * *

When he came back later that day she had showered and done her best to wash her hair with the harsh smelling soap. It had frizzed up into a brown halo and she was dying to be able to push it back from her face. He was carrying a plate of food and a glass of water with him, which he set unceremoniously on the bedside table.

"I would have the elf bring it," he said, "but I don't trust the little thing to ignore you."

The food was plain, some chicken and potatoes, but to Hermione it looked like a feast. She was hesitant to begin eating in front of him, however, and simply sat on the edge of the bed and twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands.

"Well, you might as well eat," he said snarkily. "I haven't poisoned it. The goal is to keep you alive."

She nodded slightly and leaned over to begin her meal, still very aware of his eyes on her back.

"Are you just going to watch?" she asked. "It's making me uneasy."

"I have to take the plate back."

She didn't really feel like pointing out that he could come get it later, so she just tried to block out his presence. When she finished a short while later, she watched him pick up the plate and make to leave.

"Can I ask you a question?" she blurted out just as he was about to walk out. "Or several questions?"

"You may ask, but I cannot promise a response."

This was so typical Malfoy that it made her blood boil, but she looked past that.

"Where is my wand?"

"I have it."

"Can I have it back?"

"Out of the question."

She huffed but moved on. Hermione had the feeling this Q&amp;A wasn't going to last too much longer.

"Where is this place?"

"In my home. This is a secret room only Malfoys can enter and exit, although we can bring others here. It's usually used for prisoners."

"So you and Draco are the only people who can come in and out freely?"

"Yes, but Draco does not know this place exists."

"Who was the last person kept here?"

"I believe it was Charity Burbage."

She blanched, and he smirked, and left.

* * *

Once when he brought her breakfast, he sat on her bed. She was sitting criss-cross applesauce at the head, and he sat with a sigh at the foot.

"Beg your pardon," he said wearily. "But it's just so terrible out there. You don't know how lucky you are."

Hermione thought otherwise, having spent all yesterday trying to see how many times she could fold the rug over on itself.

She studied his face. His eyes were closed and he was resting his head against the wall. This wasn't the Lucius Malfoy she had met all those many years ago in Flourish and Blotts. That man was well groomed, and self-assured. This Lucius was haggard looking, with dark circles under his eyes and a stubbly beard. His hair was messy and fell loose about his shoulders.

She pitied him.

"I've finished," she said pointedly, and he started.

"Of course." He stood and took her plate.

"May I have a book?"

"I suppose. Why did you only just now ask?"

"I thought you would say no."

"You don't have a very high opinion of me."

"No, I don't."

* * *

He brought her a history of Goblins in England, which she accepted gratefully.

"Thank you, Lucius."

"Do not ever call me that again, Granger."

"My apologies, _sir._"

* * *

The first time he kissed her was on a Tuesday. She knew because he told her so.

"Today is Tuesday," he had said, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

She was frozen, yet glad to know what day of the week it was. She hadn't known in so long. The kiss was rough, as she had expected it might be. Because she had been expecting it. How could she not have been? She would have been a fool to think it would never happen. Lately he had been particularly nice to her, bringing books she thought she would like and staying longer to talk to her. His eye contact often left her uneasy, made her feel like she was seeing something she shouldn't.

After he kissed her he simply straightened up, looked at her for a moment, and left.

She lay in bed all day after that, with her head under the covers and her mind racing.

* * *

"What day is it?"

"I believe it's Sunday."

"No, the date, please."

He pulled a pocket watch out from under his cloak and looked at it. She wanted that watch more than anything in the world.

"April 20th."

"So that means I've been here over a month."

"Yes, it does."

"And still I don't know why I'm here."

"Just be glad you're safe."

Hermione saw that he had a new cut on his jaw line.

"Is it really so terrible?"

"Worse than you can imagine."

She kissed him that time. She got up off the bed and went to him, standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips. His arms wrapped around her, his hands spreading across her back. When she pulled away at last, she sighed quietly, falling down to her regular height.

"I'm so lonely," she whispered.

"As am I."

* * *

The next day, he brought her breakfast, and when she finished, he stayed.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bed.

"If you must."

Lucius sat on the edge, creating a gentle dip in the mattress. He laid down his cane and set his head in his hands.

"Miss Granger, I am so weary, and so ready for this to be finished."

She was shocked. Such a strong, fierce man admitting weakness to a girl he hated.

It was horrifying, but it was beautiful.

She crawled over to him from where she sat by her pillow and dangled her legs off next to his. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and at the touch he straightened up. Hermione's head slipped a little, and fell to his chest, and then slipped a little more until her torso had stretched out across his legs and she could look straight up into his eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, reaching up and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "I'm glad no one knows about this place."

* * *

The bed was small for two people, but with his back pressed against the wall and her clinging tight to him, it wasn't too bad.

"What now?" she asked, breathing in the scent of him.

"Now we've begun and I can't see the end."

* * *

It happened like that every day for a week, and they were alright again when they were together. But then he had to ruin it, had to make everything that had suddenly become perfect imperfect once more.

He brought the friend.

Lucius Malfoy brought Severus Snape to her room on a Tuesday, just like the day he had first kissed her.

* * *

He said that he had asked Lucius to do it for him, because, secretly, he had always admired her.

"I wanted you to be safe," he said, awkwardly, looking at his feet. "I asked Lucius to bring me here just…just so that you might know the reasons behind all this. And I hope, that when this ends, that you will not hate me. That we might have a chance."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and she stared at her legs.

"Lucius," she choked out, "please leave. Both of you."

When they were gone, she buried her head in her bedding and wept, for she wanted to leave once more.

* * *

"He asked to come, and I couldn't give him any reason to believe that I didn't want him to see you."

"If that is the reason I am safe, I do not wish to be safe any longer. I don't want to owe my survival to him."

"He was the reason at first," he said, tilting her head back so that she would look at him. "But I am the reason now."

This was the last night they were together.

* * *

On the day she knew to be May 1, he didn't come. Not with meals, and not to her. She wrapped herself in her blanket and rocked back and forth all day, clutching the last book he had brought her against her chest.

When night fell outside the translucent curtain, she opened the bedside drawer and took out the piece of gum. That was to be her dinner. When she put the wrapper back in the drawer, she saw the scrap of paper with the tallies. She took it out and slowly ripped it into a thousand tiny pieces.

* * *

He didn't come the next day either, and so she simply slept, hoping for her wakeup call to be his hand on her shoulder. But when she awoke it was twilight again, and still no Lucius. She moved to the floor and sat with her back pressed against the wall under the window, waiting.

Just before the room became truly dark, a man appeared from the wall. It was Draco, hair mussed and face dirty. She stood and they simply regarded each other for a while. Then he held out his hand, and she went forward to take it.

"It's over," he said. "The Dark Lord is dead. Father says I'm to take you to Potter. And he said that you are not to ask after him."

In the darkness, she couldn't see Draco's face, but she could imagine it. Hurt, like hers.

They walked through the wall together to face a new dawn.


	2. The Letters

Lucius,

When the screaming in my mind stops, I dream of you. I imagine how he, how Severus, died, and then when it becomes too much I think of you. Without him there would have been no us, and I must admit that in my nightmares his blood is on your hands. And then it is on mine, and my face and my dress and my thighs. Draco said I must never ask after you, so I won't. Don't tell me how you are, or how Draco is, or Narcissa. Just tell me what you think about at night. Please.

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

I sleep, as you might imagine, in your bed. Not at night, because I cannot sleep then, in the dark. In the day, with the filtered light keeping me warm. Your scent lingers still and it keeps the demons as far away as they can be. They are, unfortunately, much closer than you.

Lucius

* * *

Lucius,

We will never see each other again, but I will never forget your face and how it looked between my hands.

The remembering is not enough.

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

I burn your letters after I read them, so that you remain my secret. To see you on parchment is too much, and I find it easier to part with the words before they overcome me completely.

Lucius

* * *

Lucius,

I keep your letters forever with me, tucked in a pouch in my handbag. It does not make it easier, but nothing will, so why bother?

I often wonder if I am fooling myself in thinking that I am the only prisoner you ever loved. Charity Burbage was an attractive young woman, and I know you would have had endless opportunities to have your way with her. And how many others before her?

It is very big and empty out here in the world, and I am very afraid.

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

Let me assure, ten thousand times over, that you were the only one. You will always be the only one. You were the only one that the solitude did not ruin. I knew you were stronger and braver and more endlessly divine than the others. I guess I had always known that, though.

Lucius

* * *

Dear Lucius,

I am going mad, no, I am mad without you. You have ruined me entirely for this cruel new world. There are no real demons here, and thus I am tormented only by my imagination, and there is nothing I can do to fight it. And what of other men? How am I to react to their attentions? Am I to be alone for all eternity?

I want so desperately to come back to the little white room and it's safety.

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

Don't say such terrible things. I know that you are capable of becoming who you were before our months together. And if you are not, I urge you to be who you are after them, a new, stronger woman who can fight her own battles. Do not make me regret our time together, for I don't believe I will ever be able to.

Lucius

* * *

Darling,

I miss you every second of every day, like a piece of me is missing. Ron asks me every morning if I am ok, and I always tell him I am. You have made a liar of me.

My friends would never approve of, or understand my suffering. So are they really my friends?

Love,

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

We cannot be together. I understand that that's what you're asking for, but it can never be so. Think of all the battles and ideas that are between us. Think of how hard we worked to separate my kind from yours. Think of those who died, and what they would say. And do not think of how you first kissed me when I was so afraid.

Lucius

* * *

Lucius,

Lucius, Lucius, Lucius. I rock myself to sleep repeating your name, feeling it roll across my tongue. No song is sad enough to soothe me the way it does, and no blanket warm enough. I don't work anymore, and I don't go out. I just stay in my room and wish for it to be evermore smaller and evermore white.

Love,

Hermione

* * *

Hermione,

This will be my last letter to you, and it is to be an apology. You were never mine, not the way I wished you were, and deluded myself into believing you were. When you were in my home you were Severus Snape's, and when you were not you were your own person. I should not have treated you as I did, or let myself become close to you. I never should have kissed you on that blessed Tuesday, or let your head slide into my lap later the same week. It is my fault entirely that you have lost yourself, and I intend for you to regain your self-worth once more. Do not write me again, and we shall both have to do our bests to forget the spring days you spent in the white room.

With Care,

Lucius

* * *

Lucius,

I will never stop writing to you, not as long as there is ink and parchment and not as long as there are words in my mind. You are my everything, and one does not simply give everything away by cause of a letter.

Love, Love, Love,

Hermione

* * *

The next day he came for her in the dead of night and stole her away, back to the tiny white room.


	3. The Aftermath

She slept for days and days in a hazy replica of reality, but when she awoke she was the happiest she had ever been. He put a calendar on the wall for her, but she made him take it away.

"I don't want to know anything but you," she whispered into his chest.

He was scared for her.

"Hermione, if I divorced Narcissa, would you live with me, out in the world?"

She nodded into his tear stained robes.

"I would try," she choked.

So he began the long, painful process. The shouting matches instead of sleeping and the division of property. All for a girl hidden away in a secret room.

* * *

They were worried about her, out in the real world. He tried to convince her to go visit them, or at least send them a letter, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't do anything. He brought the newspaper with her picture on the front page to her. When he came back later the same day, it was turned upside down on the carpet.

Finally Narcissa left, and he brought her out. She leaned heavily on his arm as they walked around the manor and he whispered into her hair. After a few hours she asked to go to bed, and he took her to his room and laid down.

"You look so beautiful there," he whispered as he cupped her face in his hand.

"It's so different," she replied before drifting away.

He watched her sleep, sitting up next to her and bed and trying his best to read the paper. She was missing, and he was a criminal once more. Eventually his name would grace the suspects list, and then they would come and find her, and it would happen all over again. The loss and the suffering and the correspondence. He didn't want it to be that way. It wasn't fair to her.

When she awoke again the emptiness around her startled her. The room was so big. Anything could get to her there. And where was Lucius? Not there, not with her. He could be anywhere. Hermione rolled over and wrapped her arms around a pillow, trying not to cry. Then she heard footsteps, and the sound of someone setting a cup down on a table. She rolled over and sobbed out in relief. He was back. Her Lucius, beautiful and strong when she was neither.

"It's too big in here," she cried. "I want to go back."

"Absolutely not. You have to come back to the real world."

"I don't want to."

"I want you to, love. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't think I can."

"Even with my help?"

"Even then. It's so dark here."

"Where?"

"In my mind."

He laid down next to her and pulled her close.

"Better?"

She didn't answer, and they just stayed there like that for at least half an hour.

Somewhere out in the world, the clock struck 2.

"Get on top of me," she demanded suddenly. "Press me into the mattress. Kiss me."

He was shocked by her sudden commands but obeyed, shifting so that he had to stay up on his elbows to keep from crushing her.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling.

"That's so much better."

He began to move against her gently, planting kisses all down her neck and chest, unbuttoning her shirt as he went. She just lay there, much less responsive than normal, so he stopped.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm perfect," she replied, eyes still closed. "I just want you to do what you want. I don't want to think. I'm so tired of it."

So he went on, working his way tenderly down his body, relishing every bit of her. She sighed softly every so often, but altogether she lay still. Admittedly, he had to refrain from pushing her farther, and being harsh. Her submission brought out the Death Eater in him, and he was scared, just a little.

Finally he pulled her legs up over his shoulders and dug his fingers into her right shoulder. He couldn't be tender anymore, and when they finished together he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily and forgetting to worry about if he was hurting her or not. But she was fine, more than fine, and when he rolled away she already missed his presence. Hermione turned to him and ran her fingers across his scarred chest.

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing her face into his arm, and then falling asleep without another sound.

* * *

The next morning she seemed worlds better, getting out of bed to shower and reading a book in the sitting room. After lunch she made her announcement.

"I'm going out to go out this afternoon and I'm going to tell them, all of them, about us."

He was stunned.

"Are you sure? You can wait for as long as you need. I'm worried-"

"Don't worry about me, dear. But if I'm not home by 5 you must come and get me. I'm afraid they'll think you've cursed me."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Positive." And then she stood up, kissed him on the head, and left.

By 4:45 he was nearly out of his mind with worry, and at 4:50 he was in the front hall ready to go after her. But then at 5 exactly, there she was, stumbling into the entry looking just as shaken as before that morning.

"It was hell," she gasped out and collapsing into his outstretched arms. "They finally believed me but I nearly died first, from the questions."

Lucius didn't question her; he simply pried her cloak off and uncurled her fist to remove her wand, which he tucked into a drawer in the bureau by the door.

Hermione slept in the room that night, with Lucius awake by her side until the morning broke.

* * *

"Why is it so wicked out there?" she asked him by the dim light of dawn when she arose from her tortured sleep. "Why don't they believe in love?"

"Love is very complicated, and is different for different people. We are no exception, and neither are they."

"You understand that I love you very much, don't you?"

"I think so."

"Then please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, foolish girl."

"But I haven't told you yet."

"Told me what?"

She didn't answer.

"Hermione," he began, his voice warning her.

"You'll think it's terrible."

"Are we in danger, Hermione? Right now?"

"No, no, it isn't that. It's just…I've been very stupid, and-"

"Just say it."

"I'm pregnant."

The room air in the room grew heavy, and still. Lucius' mind slowed and he forgot, momentarily, to breathe. Hermione rolled away from him.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed in her pillow. "I'll leave, I'll never come back."

He reached out for her and brushed his fingers against her back.

"You're not going anywhere," he soothed. "You're staying right here with me."

"So you aren't mad?"

"Hermione, this is in no way your fault. Of course I'm not mad. I'm just…I'm worried. About you. Can you deal with this right now?"

"I don't know what I can deal with right now."

"Because, if you want to, if you feel unsure, we can...have it taken care of. No one need know."

"Let me think about it. Just let me try to think."

"Anything. Shall I leave?"

"Please."

He made to leave but as he was almost out she called to him.

"Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want it?"

"Want what?"

"The baby."

"I want what you want."

"It would be a half blood."

"I know."

When he finally made it to the hall, Lucius sank to his knees and held his head in his hands, contemplating exactly what he had wrought.

* * *

He returned to her that evening with a cup of tea. She sat up when he entered, and he knew his cue to tuck in behind her, allowing Hermione to settle back against his chest. Lucius placed the cup in her hands and they just sat there, warming up to one another. A whisper and a gentle nod, that was all it took, and then the cup of tea was settled on the rug and the two eased down into the bed the way they had many times before.

The day she came back from St. Mungo's, he wouldn't let her go into the room.

"We aren't going back there anymore," he told her as he eased her into their bed upstairs. "It isn't good for anyone."

She simply nodded against the pillow and fell into a medicated sleep.

* * *

After that she got better slowly, coming out of the haze she had been in for months. In October they went out for dinner one night, and by January he no longer worried about leaving her alone. She began to converse in the old way again, instead of cowering behind her words. And they fought; oh how they fought. But it never lasted, and even though he relished the sting of her words, they never stuck. But despite her progress, every time he asked if she wanted to go back to work, she just shook her head silently and turned back in on herself.

"I don't think I can ever go back, Lucius."

That was fine with him, but he worried, of course. It seemed to him that a girl as bright as her shouldn't waste away locked up in a manor, but there was nothing he could do to change her mind.

* * *

"You're graying," she whispered in wonderment, twisting his hair around in her fingers.

"Of course I am," he replied brusquely, taking her hand away. "I'm old."

"Oh, don't say that."

"I am. More than old enough to be your father."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Then we don't have to talk about it."

"You don't seem old, anyway," she said, before wandering from the room.

He wanted to buy her a dog, but she wouldn't have it, and he wanted to buy her a broomstick but she didn't want that either. All he could do was keep the shelves full of new books and try to be home with her as much as possible.

"Do you want a baby?"

He couldn't say yes, he knew that. It would have to be a lie. Because he did want a baby with her, more than anything. But he knew that he couldn't tell her that, couldn't let her feel like she owed him something.

"No," he said simply, looking away.

"Liar."

"Don't call me that."

"But you are. It's so obvious."

"Why do you say that?"

"It just is. I think I know you well enough to say that."

"Look, Hermione. I need you to be happy. I don't want it, I need it. I'm not going to let you ruin your life for this."

"I want to do anything for you. Let me. Please."

So they tried and tried and tried, doing anything for to have a child together. And when they failed over and over again, both of them could not help but feel that they had already given up their chance.

Technically they never stopped trying, but their hearts weren't in it after a while. Neither wanted to know who was the real source of the problem, and both had their reasons to want to keep everything the same.

* * *

"Tell me about the room, Lucius."

"No, I don't think so."

"No, just show me where it is, tell me how it got there."

"I thought we had an agreeme-"

"It'll help, I swear."

So he took her down to the lower levels of the house, leading her through corridors she couldn't have imagined existed. They arrived in a long white walled hallway with doors intersperced down its length. He stopped between the third and fourth door on the right side, and gestured to the wall.

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"I thought it would be…"

"Grander?"

"I suppose so."

"It's designed to be discrete and extremely secretive. Can we go now?"

"I guess so."

* * *

The next day she came to him shyly while he worked in his study.

"Lucius? Ginny is going to come over tomorrow."

Relief raced through his body, but he tried to act casual.

"That's lovely, darling. Do you want me to have tea with you two, or shall I leave you to talk?"

"No, Lucius." Tears came to her eyes, and her words became somewhat garbled. "She's coming to take me home."

It struck him like a blow.

"Home where? This is your home."

"Home to my apartment. I just think…I think it's time for me to go."

"It isn't. It isn't and it never will be. Is this about the room? We can go back, I'll take you there. Please, don't go."

"I love you so much."

"Then why-"

"You would never understand."

"Is it Ron?"

"No, Lucius, it isn't Ron, and it isn't the room, and it isn't you. It's just everything all at once."

* * *

When she was gone, he cried for hours, unlike he ever had before. In his old life, it would have been disgraceful but now it was necessary. Everything was desolate and empty; his bed, her chair next to him at dinner, the library. He destroyed the room, charring every last stick to pieces and then sealing it all permanently behind the wall. The furniture was gone but he couldn't destroy her with it.

* * *

Sometime later, he saw her in Diagon Alley. With a man. Lucius had never seen him before, but he looked like the sort of clean cut Hogwarts boy Hermione probably deserved. And then sometime longer after that, he saw her wedding announcement in the paper, and then a series of birth announcements. He only ever saw her once more, through the plate glass window of Flourish and Blotts. She was inside, struggling with an unruly baby, and as he stopped to look at the display from the street, their eyes met. It was very strange because where he expected to see pain in her eyes, she only looked at him, and then straight through him, almost as if nothing had ever happened, almost as if she did not know his face at all.


	4. Forgetting

In the Wizarding world, mail gets lost just as easily as in ours, maybe even more so. An owl may fall dead in its flight, or drop its mail in a particularly strong gust of wind. So all over the world there are letters and bills and small packages wrapped up in tree branches or stuck to eaves or melting to bits at the bottom of lakes. Usually the two parties involved in the exchange figure out the mail has gone missing, but sometimes, if they are out of touch with one another, they do not. That is how it came to pass that an envelope addressed to Lucius Malfoy from Hermione Granger was wedged under a loose shingle of a Muggle church halfway between their homes. Perhaps one day a roofer will find it, but that will only be once the minister has collected enough in the offertory to send one up, and by then it may have succumbed to the elements. So as it stands, we, and Hermione, are the only ones who know its contents:

Lucius,

I am sorry to have left you like that. You gave up your world for me, and I ran from it. But you're a smart man, and you know as well as I do that our relationship was never healthy, or built on anything other than feverish necessity. I did love you, but how long could I stay in that big house that once belonged to another woman? How long could I avoid looking Draco, my schoolmate, in the eye? I could not bear the idea of my friends out in the world, making something of themselves and wondering what had happened to me, the most promising of them all. Perhaps that makes me sound full of myself, but it is true.

I used to think very fondly of that awful little room, remembering our time in it together. Now I can only remember how cold it was, and how unbearably lonely when you weren't there. That is where I pictured myself dying, presuming that one day you would forget me.

Please don't think I have forgotten your kindness, because I truly have not. But soon I may. There is a therapist at St. Mungo's who helps people like me, people who have awful memories from the war. She's diametrically opposed to Oblivation as therapy, but she says that with her I can achieve some peace, and not be called to return to you anymore. It hurts to tell you that, but I believe that you will understand it's what's best. I really do hope that one day you will be able to forget me, too.

With care,

Hermione


End file.
